


ScarTissue

by mitochondrials



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dragon Age Reverse Big Bang 2015, Eye Trauma, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-04
Updated: 2015-12-04
Packaged: 2018-05-04 22:06:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5350145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mitochondrials/pseuds/mitochondrials
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story about a young Lavellan, a very familiar rogue mage, and too many Templars. Oh, My!</p>
            </blockquote>





	ScarTissue

**Author's Note:**

> This is a piece written as part of the Dragon Age Reverse Big Bang 2015. You can view the amazing artwork that this was inspired from by sanzosin [here](http://sanzosin.tumblr.com/post/134551357620/hellooo-this-is-my-entry-for-the-dragonagebb).  
> I'm really hoping how I interpreted Lavellan isn't too disconnected from his original incarnation. Heh. Also, I wasn't able to have someone beta read this for me so if you find any mistakes please do let me know.  
> Thanks so much for checking it out!

Lavellan skimmed this supposed book of basic hexes, accidentally slamming it down against the table in his anger. Dorian, next to him, jumping only slightly. “Now you’re getting it,” He said in reference to a past conversation about the lack of proper books.

“But if I wanted to know what the Divine drank for each morning, here it is.” Lavellan joked back, sweeping his hand across in a grand gesture. They were both sitting tucked in the little clove Dorian usually spent his time in. Lavellan was on the floor, while Dorian, much preferring to keep his back up straight, stayed comfortably in his cushioned chair across the other corner.

The conversation felt vaguely familiar.

“I’ll have to pester Fiona later.” Lavellan sighed. He helped Dorian tidy, which meant Dorian got to watch in mild amusement as he started picking up the entirety of Dorian’s mess.

“With Business out of the way how about a break?”

“We have literally done nothing all day.” Lavellan scrunched his nose. “I have been literally doing nothing all day.” He corrected. Josie, and Leliana both haggled him all the night before to take a much-needed rest. The events of the Winter Ball sucked all the life out of him, and probably Dorian too.

The bastard accidently knocked one of the books loitering on the arm rest on the floor, feigning complete and utter ignorance. Dorian handled the Winter Ball just fine.

“You wanna join me in the tavern?” Lavellan smirked; his revenge. His tavern gatherings consisted solely of Varric and Sera. Varric and Dorian got along fine, but it was Sera that often grated on Dorian’s nerves though he’d never admit to anyone but Lavellan. Remarkably Sera had the hilarious habit getting herself so piss drunk she passed out. Probably why Varric tolerated her himself, also finding her somewhat annoying, though, he’d never tell. Lavellan rubbed his temples at the thought. Everybody kept secrets from each other unless it was him or Leliana. “I could really use a drink.”

Dorian reluctantly came. Correction. Dorian curiously came. Lavellan may have let it slip that Varric was aiding Lavellan in his story telling skills. Enough weird shit happened to him, as Varric put it. Enough weird shit really did.

All he had to do to was mention how he wanted to tell the story of his scar. Dorian was unbelievably curious, but never actually asked despite Lavellan himself pestering Dorian to death about his life and what Tevinter was like. Lavellan was too cruel to outright tell him, enjoying this far, far too much.

* * *

Down to his second cup of ale, Lavellan blinked himself awake. He was pretty sure Varric had been describing some kind weapon or something during one of his tales and he simply dozed off. 

“Mornin’ Sun Shine,” Sera said, beaming, and already in a drunken stupor. 

“Mornin’. Sorry, what’d I miss?”

“No biggie. Those big circles under your eyes are hard to miss.” Varric said. They were originally playing a round of Wicked Grace, now down between Varric and a highly bored, not as drunk Dorian.

“I’ll keep missing your fantastic stories,” He said, grinning sheepishly.

“Heh, yeah right. And I’ll never be telling them again. Ever.”

“Wasn’t it your turn? I stayed all less ale’d up so’s to listen.” Sera said, hiccupping on the spot.

“Yes,” Dorian said, cutting in. “You did say you’d tell the one about your scar.”

“I’ve never really told anyone how I got my scar. Very weird shit worthy, I might add. See it begins back, way back around when I was roughly 17 or so. My Names-day was almost a year off, and I’m sure you know the Dalish choose a Vallaslin once they become of an age. It’s like a right of adulthood for the Dalish. Obviously not all choose to, or earn it.”

* * *

 

Lavellan was hesitant to receive his Vallaslin. He traced his fingers along his cheek, feeling the smooth skin. He’d been meditating for months now on their histories and their old, long lost gods. Memorizing and reciting the stories was the easy part. Their Keeper, Deshanna, threw freezing water on him as a boy when he refused to wake at dawn and study them while she recited. Because the clan traded so often with Human and Dwarven merchants she’d let him buy paper and ink to write it down, where he eventually took twine and made himself the best Clan Lavellan study guide there was. 

Sometimes he’d find his thoughts drifting to the few spells she taught him; mostly Spirit related in nature, like Dispel and Barrier. Others he managed to snatch up rummaging through the miscellaneous junk piles several of the Ostwick merchants had to lie about, mostly all torn to shreds save a couple legible pages.

That’s what he wanted to do. Go out and find more and more spells, maybe even check out arcane history and religious works published by the Chantry about the Circle. Deshanna only frowned when he’d go on rambling excitedly about it. But she also said nothing, reminding him of his duties for the day when he was done. He was thankful she put with him because he knew no matter how much he did want more than the life of a Keeper’s first, it was the second best thing.

“You’re being antsy again,” Deshanna said, interrupting him from his thoughts. Currently, the clan was camping out in one of the ancient Dwarven ruins tunneling through the mostly uninhabited islands near Hercinia. He was sitting in one inside one of the separate chambers, trying to avoid the outside chatter.

“I haven’t even moved!” He said, feeling himself jump a bit at her voice.

She found herself a seat across from him, “I can tell because you make the same exact face skinning potatoes. And, because despite trying to pretend to have a serene air about yourself to try and trick me, you usually have that same dead look in your eyes every time since you’ve started.”

“That obvious, huh?” He mockingly snapped his fingers. “Damn.”

Was she going to lecture him? He was aware his progress over Vela’s, one of the young hunters, was beyond pitiful. Especially being, of course, the Keeper’s First, and worse the oldest of the two.

“I came to remind you Vela’s ceremony is tomorrow morning.” Ah, speaking of which, he thought. “She and I have been decided it would be good if you joined me. I think watching will help relieve this block you seem to be having.”

He cringed at the way she said block, knowing full well what she meant. “If you think it best.” He sighed. The discomfort was already swelling inside his stomach.

 

 

Vela wasn’t too chatty, instead curtly nodding to him. She was digging her nails into the sand out along the shore, letting the water lap at her feet, taking deep breathes.

Nodding silently back, he was unsure where to sit, covering his eyes with his hands to block the morning sun uncomfortably.

“Right here’s fine, L’houis,” Vela said in that rough, nasally voice of hers, patting the ground next to her. He obliged, noting her clear, dark complexion. She was a rather mousy thing, but one of the few amongst the clan that seemed to enjoy talking to him now and again. He’d even get her to giggle when he droned on about the technicalities of a certain spell. His dreams were nice, she said in turn.  
That’s as far as it went, however. Vela was probably more distant acquaintance than a friend, and he wondered how Deshanna bribed her into letting partake in one of their most sacred of traditions.

Which, by the way, turned out to be the most incredibly boring experiences of his entire life.

A Vallaslin was simply an ordinary set of tattoos connecting together using a very rare form of ink that was most definitely not blood, seeing as he mandatorily knew the recipe. Vela squirmed a whole ton, but impressively stayed quiet the entire two hours it took to cover the left side of her face. Thank the Creators the right only took roughly under an hour and Deshanna was too concentrated to realized he dozed off by then.

Vela nudged him in the shoulder, “L’houis, you ass! Wake up!”

He blinked awake and cracked a tiny smile. “Looks nice. Is it all raw and gross?” He joked. Deshanna would have healed over the skin, completing the ceremony. “Congrats.”

“I told Deshanna it was a good idea you should go,” She said suddenly.

Huh? Go where now? “What?”

“I told her having you here would do nothing. Hell, you feel asleep. The Keeper came to me asking my opinion about whether or not we should just let you go. I told her yes, and I still say yes. Ma banal las halamshir var vhen.” You do nothing to further our people.  
Distant acquaintances indeed.

* * *

He wasn’t really looking where he was going, presently slinking through a crowd of drunken humans cheering incoherently inside the cheapest tavern he could afford, when one of them pushed past him in a flash and bashing him into the serving girl. “Sorry, Ma’am!” He said, yelping as the cold ale splashed down his shirt.

“Knife ears,” She said, scoffing at his apology and shouldering her way around him, dropping her tray down on the nearest empty table in search of some rags.

It all went to hell the next second on account of the Templar’s armor clinking through the crowd. Lavellan maneuvered out of the way under a random table, a pair of drunks kicking out their feet in confusion, knocking him in the neck. What a trip this is turned out to be.

He’d barely made port off the cargo ship onto Highever’s docks. It was a rich little town made up of esteemed nobles and decently rich farmers alike. Worth its weight in trade, though, when the clan felt the need to cross waters into Ferelden.

“Evacuate the building!” One of the Templar’s shouted. They went on to say something about a runaway Apostate possibly entering and possible danger being drowned out by the noise of the crowd. Surprisingly, or actually not really that surprisingly, the crowd started aggressively pushing into each other, fighting to get out. He had to fling himself forward on the floor, landing with his palms and swerving out of the way in a vain attempt to avoid the onslaught.

Everything was a whirlwind of hands and elbows and feet jabbing him every which way till he was involuntarily knocked past the bar down into the tavern’s cellar. Where he landed Templar followed, shooting past him. He flipped himself over onto his stomach and slowly lifted himself up using his hands, looking ahead among a dozen darkly lit rows of barrels all stacked in parallel lines. The fire erupted towards the ceiling, smoldering open a line of barrels as it rained down in a one singular explosion of white light, throwing Lavellan against the wall. The whole building was probably going up in smokes but when he tried to move again the ash falling and firing across blinded him, his eyes burning.

There was more incoherent talking, although sounded much more like hysterical murmuring, heading right towards him. Before he could realize it, someone was dragging him up the stairs, the whole building collapsing together in a giant puff of flames.

The stranger released him as quickly as he grabbed him, grousing out a sharp “Sorry” that mingled together with the shouts of “There he is!” Lavellan fell onto the ground with a thump, briefly locking eyes with his savior, deciding to rock himself forward using his shoulders and aiming to strike an uppercut.

The mage tried blocking, failing as Lavellan’s blow knocked him back, counterstriking with a kick to Lavellan’s stomach. He dodged one of the Templar’s swords, and swerved towards the coast, continuing the chase.

 

 

There were technically five circles in the Free Marches, Kirkwall’s being the most famous and the largest, leaving Lavellan with very little knowledge about them. The few Templar his clan did cross while trading in Starkhaven kept mostly to themselves. Keeper Deshanna was always comfortable carrying her staff through the market and sometimes had him run errands gathering extra herbs to aid the local Alienage there. She liked healing the sick children and passing stories with the sailors passing through.

He knew the ones about Maleficarum escaping in a desperate search for power, and the tragedies they forced on those around them. The other tales, ones about how Templar murdered runaway mages, this only made logical sense to him. What were they to do?

The Templar ignored him after the Apostate dashed off, leaving him to flee down into the Coastlands towards the North Road. Good riddance, he mused. He did what he thought was necessary, but hunting Apostates honestly wasn’t on the top of his to-do list. If he really wanted to know more he figured, he could ask one of the Enchanters inside the Ferelden circle. Or least, he hoped he could ask, assuming it was allowed. First Enchanters were usually allowed leniency outside, but they were busy delegating their responsibilities. But what did he know anyway; other than the best shop on arcane literature was in Orlais?

It was nearly a week by the time he finally reached the Northern Road plus another just to reach the forest south of West Hill. Luckily, too, seeing as his food rations were almost entirely gone and he missed the fresh meat. He didn’t miss the hunting. Scarily would the hunters bother taking him because he’d fidget too much. It was all sitting and waiting, hiding off to watch the nugs slowly creep over a trap. Yet harvesting plants was the greater evil, somehow.

His mind wandered to the Apostate. They had to hunt too, he imagined. He tried imagining how worse for wear they’d all be, unused to the terrain and vegetation. He tried chasing the nugs as a young boy, tripping and falling every single time as the others laughed. A grown adult doing the same was outright hilarious. Or sad, depending on how one looked at it.

 

 

He decided to stake out for the night under the trees, a comfortable distance from the road, that was conveniently sloped above the northern section of the forest in case of bandits.  
Nevertheless, it wasn’t a very good I case of runaway Apostates.

All he had done was take a quick run gathering sticks, stopping to the sight of the very same Apostate, hazel eyes locked with his in sudden panic, stuffing down the last of his bread.

“Oh, is this yours?”

The sticks clattered to the ground, Lavellan readying to fight and raising his right hand.

“Hey, hey. I know what this looks like, but I’m really not interested in fighting you.” They said, holding up their hands (and bread) in surrender. “Promise.”

“Like I can trust you,” Lavellan said, cautiously moving a step forward.

“The way you throw a punch, absolutely.”

That halted him. “You’ve been following me,” He said. It wasn’t a question.

They shrugged. “Slightly. Back in the inn I could feel the magic in you and was pleasantly surprised those lummoxes didn’t realize. Well. Maybe less than surprised. Templars can be immensely stupid.That’s not the point. Once I noticed they had no interested in you I followed after in an effort to confuse them. Hopefully, they believe I’m still hightailing it somewhere in between Highever and Amaranthine.” Then, they simply reached out their hand awkwardly, hoping to shake hands. “By the Maker I forget how terrifying your eyes are in the dark.”

“Excuse me!?” Lavellan was so flabbergasted he relaxed his stance.

“Elves. You’re an elf and your eyes doing that ominous glowing stuff.” They said, remembering the bread in their hands and giving a sheepish grin. “Truce?”

* * *

The deal was they both stayed on opposite sides of the double fire pits marking their camp. And the invisible line.

Lavellan slid some sliced nug he carved over said line by the means of an extra-long twig and a rag turned makeshift plate. His new companion, rather delightfully, chucked their leftover jerky, barely missing his ear. “So,” He said, desperately wishing to end the silence. “You did a pretty impressive job ditching those Templar…”

“I’ve had lots of practice. Sort of hoping I don’t get any more, but it’s not the case.” They said with a heavy certainty. “Especially following after you. It’s interesting a Dalish elf would be pro-Circle. You are Dalish, aren’t you?”

“Yes. Sort of. It’s complicated.”

“Don’t tell me your clan kicked you out because too many mages? I heard that was a thing some clans did.”

Lavellan shook his head. “No. Nothing like that.” He was returning ultimately. Of course, he was after he found himself. That’s what Deshanna referred to it as. The question was if he’d still feel the same once he did.

 

 

“Do you have, I don’t know, a name?” Lavellan said hours later during the early morning. He could hardly sleep, staring out into the sky all through the night instead. “A nickname?” 

“Nicknames sound good.” His companion replied half-asleep. “Safer at the very least. I’ve always wanted to be called Roo-Roo.”

Lavellan tried to stifle his snorting, he really did. “Roo-Roo*?”

“Fits perfectly. Now, what about you? Uh, hnn.” Roo-Roo sat up from his sleeping bag, tucking a hand under his chin. “You kinda look like a Siui*.”

“That is not even a word.”

“How would you know?”

“Way, _way_ more than you. You are not calling me Siui.”

* * *

Roo surprisingly had a bag he stuffed inside his breast pocket full of sovereigns. Although he was reluctant to explain where he got it from exactly, he promised no one was harmed in the process, throwing it over and promptly smacking Lavellan over the head, bellowing out a sorry between laughs.

The air was getting chillier, summer dying off fall. Roo noticed Lavellan shivering the past few days in the morning and how he avoided bathing till it was in the afternoon. So he kindly insisted _Siui_ buy warmer clothes at the docks.

“I’ll be out of your hair long before then, rest assured. Getting this close to the tower again is risk enough, brilliant as it is.” Roo said, eyeing Lavellan’s forehead. He was planning to head northwest towards Orzammar next.

Lavellan pressed his lips together, stuffing the bag into his pocket and started rolling up the thin, little blanket he used as a bed. “They could question me about you, you know?”

“They probably will. Wouldn’t be doing their jobs if they didn’t.” There was a hint of malice in Roo’s voice.

“And if I tell the truth?”

“You’d be doing what you think is right. Undoubtedly, you know nothing about the Order; what they might do to those who help us Apostates, willingly or not. You’re an Apostate too, remember.Eventually someone else is bound to notice.”

The words left a bitter taste in Lavellan’s mouth. Sure, he rarely cast spells and preferred to work without a staff, but he no longer had the protection of his clan. He knew the Order wouldn’t hesitate to apprehend any of the Dalish who loitered too long in one particular residence. Convincing himself all he needed was keeping doing just that suddenly rang hollow.

He changed the subject. “My head’s fine so you can stop staring now.”

Roo shrugged, thankfully getting the hint.

 

 

They traveled in a comfortable silence despite the previous conversation, letting Lavellan ponder how similar the two of them really were. Roo must have had very little companionship in trying to escape so many times. Nothing was keeping him there, that was obvious. Vela’s words flashed through his mind then. Maybe he wouldn’t return to the clan after all of this, but leaving it was harder than he wanted to admit. He prided himself on being the clan’s future Keeper, once, when he was still a child.

“You said you’ve run away a few times before. No one to…miss?” They were reaching the edge of the forest three days out near Lake Calenhad Docks by now. He was busy lighting both fires when he asked.

“I--,” The question seemed to catch Roo off-guard. “It depends on what you mean by a friend.” He deflected.

“I’m sorry,” Lavellan said, realizing how blunt that came off.

“No, don’t be. I’m grateful at least one of us can afford to be naïve about the Order. And I mean that, sincerely.”

“Thank you I guess?” He huffed out a breath, flopping down on his blanket. “You make it sound like a prison to be honest. It conflicts with everything I ever imagined the Circle being. We Dalish, … we don’t have books nor the time to be wasting like Circle Mages do. Our gods are lost and we barely have anything left. So it’s my job—was my job to carry on the old ways. I don’t know how to explain it.”

Roo was silent a long time before answering. “What you see is how it ought to be.” He clenched his jaw. “There is someone. That’s why I’m out here. Fighting the Order from the inside is unattainable or I’d have done it. I want to help us of all, us mages, against their abuse and corruption.” His eyes were sincere. Honest. A good liar, perhaps.

Lavellan fought a smirk. “I wish I could be so noble. I was bored with my life.” In another day, they’d both be parting ways, and Lavellan found himself feeling somber at the thought. “My new one’s turning out pretty interestingly, I gotta admit.”

He braved crossing their invisible line, carving another of the various nugs he’d carried on a long stick. Roo started rambling about cats that got themselves stuck inside the Circle and how they probably enjoyed sleeping in the little boat stationed at the docks. It got Lavellan mentioning the Halla kicking him because he accidently startled the poor creature when he was a young boy.  
In an odd way, Roo sort of was his first friend.

* * *

A jolt of electricity bolted Lavellan awake. Flashes of purple and white blinking across his vision, the sound of metal hitting wood. The Templars found them.

No, they found Roo.

He started channeling his mana, squeezing his hand tightly together into a fist, casting Dispel in an attempt to counteract the Templar’s Spell Purge ability. The energy of the two snapped against each other, rippling through the air like an explosion.

Roo took advantage by whacking them straight in the face, “Quickly!” He motioned for them both to run.

After a couple of seconds, Lavellan slipped on a tree branch, tumbling down a small slope into the darkness, failing to notice right away it was still dark. The clunking of the other Templar’s armor forced him to wait where he was. Further ahead flames licked through the trees, alerting him to Roo. He sprung forward off the ground with his knees, racing and slamming a Templar temporarily with Winters Grasp.

But by the time he caught up Roo was being shoved beyond the trees. He had to help him, he thought desperately, climbing his way up for a better vantage point. Several more Templar stalked the horizon, five in total, with their swords at the ready. There was no way he’d be a match alone.

Luckily, they didn’t head straight to docks, instead heading east into the Bannorn lands where they had their camp. Apparently some higher ranking Templar named Rylock was in charge and was responsible for delivering Roo herself, despite not actually being directly involved in his capture. She was nowhere to be seen, probably inside the large tent centered in the middle, just a couple paces from their fire pit.

Three of them stood guard around the perimeter between four tents in total. Lavellan hid between a large formation of rocks a decent distance away. He’d have to sneak in somehow. It was the only possible way. Presumably Roo was stuck inside the largest tent with Rylock and at least one other Templar for protection counting the missing fourth from his sight. They had to have guard rotations periodically, especially throughout the night.

 

 

He stayed cramped hiding in those rocks all day, pleased to see they’d change stations every two hours. As night fell, they seemed to agree on a new arrangement, preparing to take sleeping shifts. If just one, only one, retired he might have a chance. But he’d have to trust Roo to react, a man he barely knew.  
Here’s hoping.

He snuck around to the opposite side of the camp, angling himself behind the Templar idling about their potions table foolishly, the darkness hiding him from plain sight. Bolting forward, he latched onto the back of their head, trying to freeze to the spot like he did before using Winters Chill. A burst of bright, powerful light threw him back, burning through his body like fire. His automatic barrier enveloped him, helping block against the blow. Chaos ensued as a storm of lightning blazed down onto them, scorching through his barrier. There was panicked yelling, the tents catching fire and expanding through the grass.

Grunting, he rolled across the ground, extinguishing the flames licking his arm in ice. A Templar was at his heels, stabbing down with their sword, forcing him to jolt upright and Fade Step out of the way, shooting him onto the edge of a hill and tumbling straight down. The Templar caught up swiftly, diving towards him while casting Spell Purge. His barrier fizzled away as he landed, but he mustered the strength to summon a wall of ice between the two of them. He had no choice to then use his Frost Step, passing right through the Templar as they smacked into the wall.

The camp was completely demolished into ash. There was no sign of Roo or the remaining Templar. Scrambling through everything, he tried a basic tracking technique the hunters taught him using magic to light up any possible footprints, finding two Templar corpses and a tangled mess of prints circling together. His best bet was returning to the forest, hoping Roo was smart enough to seek its cover as dawn was breaking.

Already another group of Templar were scouring the area, noticing him faster than he could hide. “You there, Knife-ear!” They pointed they swung their sword out at him, knocking him back onto the ground. We search for a dangerous Apostate. Seen anyone?” They were eyeing him suspiciously.

He swallowed thickly, unconsciously wedging his fingers into the dirt. “No,” He said. He was proud in keeping his eyes stern, looking directly at them.

“In that case apprehend him. I’m taking no chances.” They commanded. A pair of them came, lifting him roughly and binding his hands behind back. His was forced to walk in a line behind the Knight-

Lieutenant’s horse, walking barely a couple yards. Did any of the ranking superiors do anything?

All the others split apart, the noise of their armor hard to miss. It fascinated him how they managed to find anyone at all. Sure, their sheer numbers alone were terrifying, watching them all marching along like that, but the best way to hunt a bear is when they’re in a pack as Vela liked to say. Whatever that meant. He nestled down into the grass, focusing on the sounds of their footsteps echoing all around him.

The Knight-Lieutenant broke his concertation. “I find it strange we’d find a Dalish roaming alone in the very same place an Apostate has been tracked. Stranger, still we caught you on the run, now isn’t it? You have seen the Apostate, I think.” They clicked their tongue against the roof of their mouth. “I promise no harm will come to you should you tell me. Unlike whatever heathen gods you ascribe yourself to, the Maker demands our protection. That Apostate will kill and kill in the name of freedom, they always do. Now I know you don’t want that.”

Lavellan bit the inside of his lip. He truly knew nothing about Roo aside from his extreme hatred for the Templars. And Although he couldn’t wager how many Roo killed before, he’d already killed at least three Templar himself trying to help Roo, hadn’t he? It was all in the name of self-defense. So he kept silent, avoiding the Lieutenant’s heavy gaze.

“I see you’ve chosen, then.”

* * *

He hadn’t realized how absolutely gigantic the forest truly was until he was made to walk every inch of it. Twice.

They treated him pretty decently. He had no complaints about the food, and they let him sleep on an actual mat. He even got to watch them train. Yes, busy as they were hunting a mage they woke before the dawn, sparring or pulling pushups. He could all but imagine if he held such devotion to becoming Keeper how Deshanna might weep. Their duty consumed them so entirely. He saw it in how dull their eyes shined, that uncovering more of their dead brethren did nothing. No passion, no anger.

None spoke to him, but they sparred close enough where he could feel their so-called “gifts” magic sparkled and hummed rather like one of his spells across his skin, enticing his curiosity. They claimed their gifts weren’t magic, and that they relied on their stamina whereas mages drew on mana, a spiritual form of energy. And yet…

Speaking of his curiosity, they were traveling particularly slow, walking the same exact path as last time. It was as if the Lieutenant was waiting for something.

A Templar by the name of Agathe led him by the wrists towards the center of the forest, the Lieutenant trailing not far behind on foot. “This is the prisoner?” Another Templar said, waiting on a rock.

The Lieutenant gave a salute. “Yes, ma’am. He blatantly refused an answer, but I’ve avoided prodding him further.”

“Elf.” She stood, cocking her head to get a better look at him. “You understand withholding information makes you an accomplice, do you not?” The way she simply paused suddenly ticked him off, and instinctively he craned his neck, searching the trees. “Ah. Perhaps we shall ask him again. Beathen.”

“Of course.” The Lieutenant nodded, unsheathing his sword, handing it to Rylock. Agathe meanwhile knocked him to his knees, holding him steadily in place. He raised his chin, locking eyes with her.

“Have you seen the Apostate, Elf?”

He gritted his teeth. “No.”

She stabbed the blade straight into his eye, twisting it slowly when he didn’t scream, then slicing up once he started to shiver. He just barely stopped himself from falling over, his balance unsteady. Blood rushed down into his mouth; the taste of iron and its warmth making him want to choke.

“And in that case, you have lied to me! Men, move on. The Apostate couldn’t have gone far!” She didn’t smile, but she deserved to he thought. His vision blurred while his head started spinning. Something sounding like the wind whizzed past his ears, followed by metal clashing with metal. There were voices and then there weren’t.

“Roo?” He called out. Cold fingers gently suddenly grasped his hands and delicately moved it away from his eye. Luke warm energy, like water, flowed across the whole of his face, easing away the pain almost as quickly as it had come.

“Will you stop trying to blink.”

Wait. “Roo!? What happened!?”

“Shh, calm down, calm down,” Roo said softly. “You went into a state of shock. It’s alright.”

He jumped ever so slightly once the vision in his right eye returned because of how close to his face Roo was. “Ow!” He yelped after trying to scan the area, accidently stinging his damaged eye.

“Please, I promise it’s okay.”

“But what happened?” Did he pass out? “It was a trap.”

“I know. Your rescue attempt was the sloppiest thing I’ve ever witnessed. Rylock sensed you before you ever tried to strike—I warned you about that, didn’t I. But now…, now you see what they’re like.”

Yes. He did see. His stomach knotted in guilt, and in regret, truly trying to imagine a life inside that circle, facing Rylock. He wanted to say sorry, instead he said, “I did lie.” She was willing to risk his life, to manipulate Roo, given she got to snatch both of them.

If Roo heard him he didn’t reply. “Mmm, I’ll be able to heal the eye but it’ll scar.” They were definitely in the forest close to a stream, where Roo dipped a clean rag to wipe the dried blood off Lavellan’s, seeing as it was crusted shut.

“How did you lose them?”

“By confusing them. I’m slightly concerned they keeping falling for it. It was sure, without a doubt, the hardest thing I’ve managed to pull running away from anyone. Better?”

Lavellan blinked rapidly, pleased it no longer was stinging, and the flinched at the sunlight beaming in his eyes, promptly blocking his eyes with his hand. “Much.”

Roo chuckled at that, visibly relaxing a bit.

 

 

When Lavellan was feeling up to it, they decided to journey far west to the coastline. “I’d reckon Calenhad Docks out altogether, honestly,” He said, joking. Gazing at the sea lapping the rocks below where they made camp reminded him so much of home. It was strange how he ended up here. “You know; I just didn’t come here wanting to see the Circle or to learn new things. I’ll be 18 soon. Too soon. Denying my Vallaslin would be the ultimate sign of weakness. I’m the Keepers first, the clan’s future leader … I guess I was scared.”

“Here,” Roo said, disrupting his train of thought by walking over and pressing a random book into his hand.

He glanced at it curiously, eyes widening. “You’re healing spell book!?”

Roo nodded. “I want you to have it. It’s the least I can do.”

“Excuse me, you saved me, twice.” But he hugged it tightly, embarrassed. “Sorry—Thank you.”

“You didn’t have to come and help me, you know. Someone else wouldn’t have. I’m quite ecstatic you aren’t someone else. Plus, it’s what you wanted, right?” He outstretched his arms awkwardly, silently asking for a hug. Lavellan complied, equally as awkward.

* * *

“We eventually parted ways not too long after that. Roo was planning on heading to Amaranthine, comprising the fact he’d be passing The Bannorn lands again.” He said, concluding his tale.

Varric grunted in disappointment. “Roo facing Rylock was the most exciting part of the whole story and you skim right over it.”

“I can’t help it that I literally remember nothing. I thought it was decently good at not being cliché. You didn’t expect it. I sure as hell didn’t expect it.”

“Feels more like a cop out to me. You’ve heard enough of my stories to know bullshitting improves the best of stories.”

“To each their own.” He shrugged nonchalantly. 

“So, you never asked for his name?” Dorian cut in. “Never made contact again?”

Lavellan shook his head. “No, but I really hope he’s doing alright. Such a good man.”

“Pah! I hope you’ve not kept the habit. Next thing I know everyone’s calling me Dorible. No.” Dorian froze on the spot, horrified. “Don’t do that. Don't you dare. I never said a word!”

“So wait, let me get this straight,” Varric asked, putting together the details. “Roo-Roo is a healer known for most Circle escapes who, as far as you know, was directing himself pretty damn close to into Grey Warden headquarters?”

“Huh, yes. That’s exactly what I said Varric.” He scrunched his eyebrows in confusion. “Why?”

Varric dismissed the idea, laughing like he was nervous all of a sudden. “No reason. Sounded like someone I knew for a second is all.”

"Someone sounds tense." Dorian quirked an eyebrow.

"Whatever you say Sparkler." And that was the end of it.

**Author's Note:**

> Roo-Roo: Nickname for the name Andrew. Anders is the Scandinavian form of the Greek Andreas, which is Andrew in English. 
> 
> Siui: Irish Gaelic for Susan. Pronouced SHU-ee.


End file.
